


Feel Good Drag

by 13thDoctor



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Depression, M/M, Rough Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:59:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13thDoctor/pseuds/13thDoctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a reason Miles hadn't been able to kill Monroe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reasonable Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [impsy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/impsy/gifts), [JHarkness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JHarkness/gifts).



Sweat dripped down Miles’s forehead as he made his way to Independence Hall’s main office, and he wiped it away with the air of a guilty man. No one gave the soldier a second glance—why would they, he was the bloody _Commanding General,_ and they all knew about him and Monroe—as he pushed open the wide doors, his heart the staccato beat of a drum. He cursed himself and curled his fingers around the weapon in his jean pocket. He was trained in combat. This was no different.

It was a lie he told himself many times.

Monroe was all smiles and smooth skin when he embraced his friend at the door. With practiced innocence he moved his hand from Miles’s shoulder to his waist, and breathed hot in his ear that made him shiver with desire. Monroe noticed this and smiled complacently, a sound almost like a purr escaping his perfect lips.

“You wanted to see me, General?” he asked. He clasped their hands together and began making his way to his private room, dragging Miles with him. They had not seen each other in weeks, and Monroe was all too eager to make up for lost time.

Miles caught him in his arms and ran a hand through Monroe’s light curls, praying for courage. Monroe bit his lip and looked at his lover curiously. “What’s wrong? You look concerned.”

“I’m fine, Bas. Don’t worry about me.”

“But you see, I’m always worrying about you.” His thumb slid over Miles’s jaw, his mouth... “It’s difficult not to when you have a face like that.” His lips were so _close._ One kiss and Miles would be ruined.

The General turned his face up in mock anger, thus forcing Monroe to drop his hand. It strayed to his chest and lingered there, absentmindedly pulling at the buttons of his shirt.

“Oh, so that’s why you keep me around,” Miles teased, his heart beating its way into his throat.

Monroe laughed and brought his comrade to his chest. Miles could almost forgive the secrets hidden in those clear blue eyes. “If you come to bed with me, I may find a few more reasons...” he murmured. The hand on Miles’s waist travelled lower, further testing his self-control. He sighed and buried his head in the crook of the other soldier’s neck, breathing him in deeply. Monroe chuckled and pressed their bodies closer. He mistook Miles’s silence for ecstasy and started to unbutton the shirt, his hand sliding up his chest, his back, his shoulders.  The other hand went to the waistband of his pants and under...

He had closed his eyes, ready to partake in delicious, _filthy_ sex, when Monroe’s voice jarred him back to reality.

“Miles, why are you carrying a gun in my presence?”

Miles’s moan turned to a groan as he recalled what he had come here to do. There was no turning back now. He slipped away from the leader, a finger lingering on a thick silver ring, and drew the pistol; one shot, one bullet.

“That’s because...” He held it up, a slight tremor shooting through his arm. He took a deep breath and steeled himself, gulping away the tears. “Because I’m here to kill you.”

 

_Miles liked it rough. Always had, always will, Bas had once hissed, before he threw him down on the bed and... Well. The ending to that story was obvious. He loved the scratches, the bites, the marks Bas could leave. And it wasn’t always that way._

_When he was younger he would always spit at anyone who dared to own him. Oh, how he screamed at them when they told him when to speak and when to move, what to say and what to hear. Until Sebastian. Sebastian, with his sexy motorbike—that was how they first met, when Miles was eighteen and Bas was twenty, when they were enlisting—and his cigarettes and liquor. He was a challenge, and Miles was thrilled by that. He chased him, and would continue to chase him around the world, if the man asked._

_Finally, during the summer before they were sent to train, Bas gave in, and they danced and kissed and fucked, and despite what lies Miles told, he was his first. It hurt like hell, and Bas being the attentive bastard he was, noticed. He was a bit of an ass back then, and that changed later, but then it was a game; before all those complicated emotions like love. He pinned Miles down on the floor and ran his hands up and down his body. The man had lowered his mouth to the student’s ear and whispered lowly, seductively, almost moaning, that he hadn’t experienced pain, oh, he hadn’t, he couldn’t even imagine pain, not yet._

_Miles found this man intriguing, and the offer was tempting. He had always been in control of everything. What could it possibly feel like to give his body over to someone else? So he said yes. He said yes and never once regretted it, especially that night. The burn of handcuffs, the mystery of a blindfold, the taste of blood on lips, the hard pressure of Bas inside of him... It was so foreign and wonderful. He let Bas ravage him again and again, and when he got a little older, roles were reversed. Miles could take Sebastian as he pleased._

_He liked it rough. Always had, always will. So went their passionate fucking, and Miles could pinpoint exactly when it became something else. When long motorbike rides to the country no longer meant a quick shag, but a romantic escape followed by slow, careful, kisses and gentle lovemaking._

_Bas eventually showed Miles his true nature, his fragile side. He had kept it hidden for so long because of how he had grown up. It was seen as a weakness. But he opened himself up for Miles, and it was the greatest accomplishment of the younger man’s life; to be a confident for Sebastian’s vulnerable heart._


	2. Soulless

“To kill me?” Monroe asked, humour in his cold eyes, blue like bottles of poison. “Miles, if this is a new _game_ for us; I suggest we take it to the bedroom.” He stepped away, toward his desk, and Miles’s gaze followed him suspiciously.

“No! Bas—” He cut himself off hating that he could still use the nickname for his lover, even after all the horrible crimes he had committed. “This Militia is a living Hell! It isn’t what we wanted for this world. I would rather go back to when we had nothing than be here, with everything but _you._ What we do to people—”

“—is justice.”

“—is not right! I can’t live like this anymore! With you, and your executions, and power hungry conflict, and never ending battles...” Suddenly he was so weak, so scared, so exhausted; it would be easier to just throw the gun down and fall back into Monroe’s arms and beg his forgiveness.

Monroe almost looked sad, if Miles didn’t know any better. That day had changed him for worse, and it was probably irreversible. “Then you don’t want me?” He twisted the ring on his hand and Miles’s heart leapt.

His next words sounded like they were drug out of him with hooks. “...No. No, I’d rather have nothing over this.” He choked back an apology and grimaced.

He clicked off the safety and switched his face to a mask of apathy, his heart to a sound of hate. Monroe’s grin had faded by then, and now he moved to his door, only to find it locked. His eyes widened as he realised what preparations Miles must have taken to do this, and what advanced planning it must have required.

“How long have you felt this way, Miles?” Monroe wondered, and that was real fear in his eyes as he fumbled in his dishevelled jacket for keys that were not there.

Miles continued toward him until they were pressed close again, one palm holding fast to his lover’s shoulder while the other one splayed against the wall. A trap, and usually, _usually_ this would mean something so different, something involving kissing and playful laughter, but now it just warranted a fearful Miles and composed but nervous Monroe.

“Ever since that day, Bas, and you know exactly what I’m talking about.” He cocked the gun and held it against Monroe’s jugular. The other man swallowed but did not beg. There were times when he would have relished begging at Miles’s hand, and it had happened, but not here and now. Now it was truly life or death.

“Kill me, then. _Do it,_ ” he snarled. Miles shook and Monroe looked at him with such cruel happiness, such malicious pride, that it killed him. “You can’t, can you? You can’t. Coward. _Coward!_ ”

Miles shoved the gun so far into his skin that there was no question of bruising. He abhorred the pained sound that came from the leader’s mouth, but he beamed maniacally at it on the surface, just to vanquish all accusations of cowardice.

“I take it back, Matheson. You’re not a coward, just a traitor.” He struggled against Miles’s body but eventually gave up, falling back on the wall and meeting his lover’s eyes. “Do you want to murder me? Add me to the list of bodies you’ve felled? My blood is already on your hands; go ahead, add the rest of it.”

Miles bit his tongue so sharply that he could taste metal and salt within seconds. Tears spilled over, and Monroe’s act faltered for a small moment.

“Close your eyes...” Miles whispered hoarsely. Monroe did it without thinking; they had spent so much time trusting each other so completely and without question that it was a habit. He kept them closed, just to capture his final moments without Miles being a criminal.

 

 

_The marines were a difficult development. The men had enlisted separately, on separate agendas and when they didn’t know each other. The week they were supposed to ship out was filled with less speech and more laboured breathing, fiery tongues... The day before became a night to remember._

_Miles was taking a well-deserved rest on their couch, as he had just spent the day informing his family of his flight and loathing all the comforting, the hugging, the fake tears and real fury from his father, the relief from his mother as he promised to come back in one piece, and to be back soon. Oh, how he despised it all. Bas had been off to do the same, but mostly just to tell his dad that if he ever contacted him again after this he would kill him without blinking. No matter how much Miles hated his family life, he knew Sebastian had it worse, and he would never belittle that with his rich-kid whining._

_“Miles... Miles, wake up...” Fingers danced up his leg and onto his inner thigh, and damn if that wasn’t the best wake-up call ever. Bas swung his legs over to straddle Miles and bent his body down to rub against him at every possible angle._

_“Ah... Shit, Bas, you go that slow and I won’t last ten minutes.”_

_He opened his dark brown eyes to a smirk and fast hands touching him in oh, fuck, all the right places. Bas peeled his t-shirt off, lifted Miles’s feet to his strong shoulders, took his toes in his mouth. Miles arched his back, closed his eyes, and opened his mouth in a silent scream of utter pleasure. Bas’s lips and tongue pressed wet kissed over his legs, setting fire to his skin._

_“Come take a shower with me,” Bas ordered, the friction of his unshaved jaw against Miles’s calf an excruciating arousal. “I’m impure.”_

_Miles would reflect on that statement later; he would turn it over and over in his mind as he tried to deduce Bas, or to comfort him, or to simply understand his pain. But at that moment it was nothing; just another phrase that could bring Miles to his knees, staring up at that insatiable mouth with nothing but lust and love and all things in between._

_Miles followed Bas to their bathroom, high with anticipation. Bas always knew how to deal with Miles; when actions were needed instead of words or when he needed to be soft instead of hard. He read him so well that it was frightening. No one had ever been able to bury themselves in Miles’s soul like Sebastian Monroe._

_In a moment they were stripping, teeth biting at lips and hands pushing, hurrying, worshipping. Bas turned on the hot water and pulled Miles into the shower with him. His hands pressed into the curve of the younger man’s back, their becoming kisses deeper and longer after each gasp for air._

_Miles sighed at the feeling of burning water running down his body, Bas’s hands tugging at his hair. He didn’t notice the tears until Bas began to kiss his way down the brunette’s chest, abs, and hips. His lips lingered on prominent bones and sensitive skin, drawing short gasps from wet lips. The tears mixed with the stream of water from the shower, but Miles could see them clearly, forming small, stream-like patterns across his lover’s cheek._

_He lost his breath when Monroe pressed his forehead into his abdomen; his hands reached out to intertwine with his lover’s; and slowly, as if lifting a monstrous weight off his shoulders, he dissolved into sobs, his shoulders shaking with the effort to hold them back. Miles fell to his knees with the other man and held him in his arms, halting the awful shivering, worried and afraid and overwhelmed with the possibilities if the next day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize this has taken a slightly AU-ish turn... Oh well! More to come. And yes, you will learn all about "that day."


	3. Death's Paramour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short one but a sad one

“Monroe.”

The body he was holding stiffened and jerked, the reaction to his surname more violent than Miles had expected. He had never said his name with such formality, such _unfamiliarity._ Miles made his decision with the word—Bas was a stranger to him, _General Monroe,_ an enemy, not a friend, and not a lover.

His eyes were still closed. It made Miles uncomfortable. Monroe was smart. Calculated. And he was not one to accept death so easily.

“When did you stop trusting me?” The question came out as a ragged whisper, the sound catching in Monroe’s throat and spilling out before he could swallow it down.

“A long time ago.”

And oh, he couldn’t do it. Not here. Not now. Not with the man he loved pinned against the wall, wounded and frightened, bowing his head with the vulnerability and fear Miles had vowed never to make him feel.

“Why did everything have to change?” Miles hissed. “Bas.”

Blue eyes met brown and their hearts stopped, if only for a moment.

“Goodbye.”

He turned. And he ran.

_Coward._

_Miles led a life of running and hiding from that day forward. The first few weeks were torture—every knock on the hotel door was a Militia raid, every new guest a spy ready to take him back to Monroe, where his old lover would slit his throat._

_Every night it was a new nightmare. Monroe would laugh, and then kill him, Miles a helpless and pathetic prisoner. Each murder became more creative and violent as the months passed by, until Miles drowned them all out with whiskey. Sleep was also made impossible through the copious intake of alcohol, but that was part of the goal._

_People began to talk. He didn’t pay rent—he pointed guns and swords at anyone stupid enough to pose that question—and he rarely ventured out. If he did, residents said he used the fire escape instead of the door like any normal person._

_Once handsome, some had said, the stranger was beginning to look haggard and wasted. His face had a sunken quality to it, the dark rims under his muted brown eyes furthering the defeated look. Miles heard the whispers, knew the rumours._

_He’s lost someone._

_He’s running._

_He’s waiting for death._

_No, he’s trying to die._

_Why bother telling the truth when they were already so close?_


	4. Fervid as a Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOPS the flashbacks are not in chronological order AT ALL anymore.  
> That probably won't be fixed, so please bear with me.

PRESENT DAY

 

“You have to come clean with her eventually, you know?”

Miles scowled as Nora folded herself next to him, American Flag tattoo standing out against her skin as if it were mocking him. She wore a bra and faded jeans, the only evidence of the recent battle found in carefully wrapped bandages wrapped around tan, muscled skin.

“Cover yourself up, will you?” Miles ordered, avoiding the inquiry. He was hypocritical, to say the least; his own shirt was discarded in the dirt. Ugly, purplish bruises had formed along his abdomen and shoulders, and they were flecked with dry blood that he had been too lazy to clean off.

“It’s not like you care,” Nora answered evenly. Miles gave her a sideways glance and she chuckled, punching him on the arm. He laughed with her for a moment before turning his gaze back to the dusty building complex.

Nora cleared her throat.

“ _What?”_ he asked, incredulous and incredibly perturbed. He lifted a bottle of amber liquid to his lips and took a long swig before gesturing for Nora to continue. She was stubborn, and it was best just to let her say what she had to say then to avoid it, because then she would never stop.

“Charlie. She needs to know, Miles.”

“And what good would come from that? She’s a fucking moron, Nora, and about as impulsive as Rachel.”

“She would understand—”

“Oh, ‘cause she reacted so well when I told her I was in the Militia. She could hardly handle that B— _Monroe_ was my best friend, but my _lover?_ ” He shook his head and laughed coldly. “She would probably kill me.” He took a longer drink, angry at himself for the slip in names.

“She’s family, Miles.”

“I don’t have a family anymore.”

“Not even me?”

“No.”

Nora didn’t answer. Miles felt strangely satisfied in hurting her. She had refused to accept how changed he was when they met for the first time after so many years, but he was slowly showing her how cruel he could be.

He frowned. The bottle was empty. He leapt to his feet in one swift motion, leaving Nora on the ground. His boots made indents in the upturned earth, and he kicked them away with a hiss.

“Think about it,” she whispered softly, the sound of tears being held back evident in her normally strong voice.

Miles stopped himself from going back to her.

 

_One month after they their service began, Miles and Bas made a commitment._

_It wasn’t anything as rash as marriage—hell, Miles had had a hard enough time explaining to Emma why he couldn’t love her—but it was something that bound them much closer._

_It was a night of celebration; the Fourth of July. The marines were let loose on the town that the base was stationed in, and the soldiers flocked to the nearest bar with an equally close motel. The patrons were drunk, the women loose, and the booze was cheap._

_Miles and Bas had their own ideas._

_Nora left immediately, disinterested in acting as the third wheel. With a shrug and a kiss to each of their cheeks, she sauntered off, ready for a night without the boys._

_They were walking down a hidden street, the lights and sounds of the bar still audible against the noise of the town. Almost everyone was in the bar or in a dirty motel room, so they did not worry about being seen._

_Still, their hands swung loosely at their sides, brushing ever so often but never joining. They had learned to be careful early on._

_Suddenly, Bas did grab Miles’ hand—and a few other body parts—and wrestled him into a back alley without any warning._

_Their kisses were hot and rough, desperation and anticipation laced with the fervour of forbidden contact in each bite and gnash of teeth._

_“I have... An idea,” Bas panted, scanning the dark passage for comrades as Miles’ hands roamed underneath his shirt. His blonde curls were damp with perspiration and falling over his forehead, and damned if it wasn’t the sexiest thing Miles had ever seen._

_“Mmm?” Miles asked, his mouth too preoccupied to form a coherent question._

_“I saw a tattoo- ah- parlour up the street.”_

_“And?”_

_“Miles!” Bas yelled, biting his tongue to soften the noise. “Christ, what are you doing with that mouth?”_

_A smirk was his only response until a few seconds later when his lover murmured, “Our M?”_

_They had talked about it before, but had never made a real plan._

_Bas nodded, and then quickly lost the ability to communicate._

_Ten minutes later they left the alley, hair and clothes dishevelled far beyond a simple walk. The parlour was still open, and at three o’clock in the morning, they were the only customers._

_Bas drew his symbol on a pad of paper, a simple M surrounded by a circle, calmly explaining what would happen to the artist if word got out that two soldiers had matching tattoos. The man did not seem to take offense, and took the threat graciously._

_And if they held hands as they gave each other that permanent promise, etched in ink for their eyes alone, no one would be the wiser._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still deciding whether or not this should have a happy or depressing ending. Knowing me, it'll probably be the latter.

**Author's Note:**

> THIS FIC WILL NO LONGER BE UPDATED.


End file.
